


Vegas Kimon

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Competitive Dean Winchester, First Kiss, First Time, Las Vegas, M/M, Season/Series 14, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Truth Spells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-28 11:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17786885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: The Winchester brothers have been playing Rock Paper Scissors against each other for most of their lives, but it’s never meant as much as this. A first-time, Sam finds out how Dean really feels story, set in season 14, against the backdrop of a trip to the World Championship Rock Paper Scissors International Tourney in Las Vegas. They encounter someone out for revenge who turns the vacation into a case.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, only my words. Written for the 2018 [](https://deanwbigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[deanwbigbang](https://deanwbigbang.livejournal.com/).  Yes, there is actually a cash prize, international RPS tournament. Also, here’s some [info on ](https://www.nature.com/articles/srep20479)game theory in respect to RPS.  
> Check out the awesome [Art Masterpost ](https://emmatheslayer.livejournal.com/561886.html).  
>   
> 

 

  
~~**~~

 

It was finally time. After all these months of researching on the sly, studying until his eyes ached and his laptop’s memory was full. All the saving up money and all the planning, it was time to get Sam on board with the whole plan. It was the World Championship after all, of their favorite game, rock-paper-scissors, and it was happening in Vegas—this weekend.

There was a lot of money to be won, and they were both due—long overdue for a vacation. Sam hadn’t taken a moment for himself in months, supervising all the new hunters. Dean was frankly, quite sick of their home being packed wall to wall with people who looked at him like he didn’t really belong there or worse.

It wasn’t just that Dean was bothered that they called his brother Chief all the freaking time. That was kind of cute actually, and a good thing, Sam being in charge of something finally, like he always was meant to do it. Leading these people was giving him a purpose and Sam needed that to be happy. All that Dean really needed to be something approximating happy—well that was pretty simple really, he just needed Sam.

Thus the trip to Vegas…just the two of them…no tag-a-longs, no checking in with home base, no body-cams, no cases, just a pure vacation. We-time like they hadn’t had since Sam’s arm was in a sling and he still had the Mark of Cain on his arm and a permanent hangover from being a demon.

****

“C’mon, Sammy, we’ve skipped two years in a row for our Vegas week.”

“Dean, it’s _July_ , we swore we’d never ever go there again in July, remember you almost took me to the ER after my hike for dehydration?”

“Just because you have to get all granola-back-to-nature every damn time instead of doing Vegas up right, stay inside in the A/C like all the rest of us casino crawlers.”

“Bleah, that’s not my idea of a good time, which I know that you know, so why are you even asking? What’s this really about?”

“There’sathingIwanttotryandithappens this weekend,” Dean mumbled into the top of his beer bottle, clinking his teeth against the glass. He didn’t want to tell Sam what he’d gone and done.

“Say that again so my lowly mortal ears can hear the actual words, please,” Sam said, smiling that sideways grin that told Dean he was going to get what he wanted if he would just spit it out.

“There’s a tournament, that I signed us up for, and it’s the second weekend of July, like I said. And…uh, I already paid for all of it, so we kinda need to go.”

“What sort of tournament?” Sam asked, making the circling hand ‘go-on’ gesture with the hand that wasn’t holding his beer.

Dean got up from his recliner and stalked over to the bar, fumbling around underneath, taking his time getting another beer from the mini-fridge. He slowly popped the top and took a long gulp, leaning back a little, focusing on one of the awesome beer keg lights hanging from the ceiling. Yeah, he was probably still a little too proud of making those things. “Rock-paper-scissors.”

He heard the clink of Sam’s beer bottle as he set it down on the table between their two recliners. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glow and flash of a screen. Sam’s phone. The bastard was fact-checking him in the moment, instead of believing him.

“Really, you don’t believe me? Gotta run to Mr. Google, huh? What are you scared I might beat you?”

“Like that’s not how you found out about this tournament in the first place, give me a break. We’re both living in the same century, dude. And no, you won’t beat me.”

“I’ve been practicing,” Dean taunted.

“Who the hell with?” Sam demanded, his recliner creaking down so that he could stand up and face Dean.

“There’s an app I’ve been using,” Dean said, quiet in the face of Sam’s demands and the surprising amount of jealousy that question implied. There was something about Sam’s jealousy that Dean had discovered over their years together. It was beyond delicious, Dean hoarded every bit of it he’d ever encountered.

“That won’t translate to when you’re playing against humans face to face,” Sam said.

“Says who?”

“Says all the game theory stuff I’ve ever read about it. There was one I read about negative outcomes evoking cyclic irrational decisions. Made sense to me, so I doubt your app practicing will help.”

“Well, it’s supposed to be fun,” Dean said.

“And is there much of a prize involved?” Sam asked.

“How’d you guess?” Dean asked.

“How long have I known you by now? Oh yeah, that’s right, my entire life.”

Dean smiled at the triumphant smile on his brother’s face, he did so love pulling that little brother known-you-my-whole-life card. “This year the prize for overall winner is a cool ten k.”

Sam let out an impressed whistle. “Ok, that’s worth a drive to Vegas, even in the summer.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked, getting that tingle of excitement in his gut that always hit him now when he knew they’d get to be on the road for a while together. Hanging out in the bunker, having a home, all that was great, but sometimes, he loved getting back to normal. And normal meant being on the road with Sam at his side.

“Yeah, we better hit it soon, right? I mean, so that we make it there in time. You got us a hotel and stuff?”

“Booked us a package deal through the tournament, none of that no-tell motel on the outskirts of town for us this time. We’re gonna be on the main drag, right in the middle of the action! And pack a swimsuit, we’ve got a roof-top pool, dude.”

Sam obviously thought he was kidding about the hotel room, Dean was looking forward to seeing the surprise on his brother’s face when he saw the place for himself. If it was anything like the pictures on the hotel website, he was prepared to be amazed himself.

****

Sometime during the thousand miles of driving, Dean noticed that Sam had gotten quieter than usual. He seemed really immersed in some reading he was doing on his phone. Almost like he was in research mode for a case.

“Hey, this is supposed to be a vacation, you’re not relaxing,” Dean said, whacking Sam in the knee that was almost pressed into his own thigh harder than he probably should have. He loved it more than he should when Sam got all relaxed and sprawled like this in the front seat, taking up three-quarters of the bench seat, encroaching on his space. It reminded him of all that time wound up together in the back seat while Dad was driving.

“Ow! Hard to relax when you’re beatin’ on me like that,” Sam said, shifting around so both of his legs were on his side of the car. He went right back to reading.

“What’re you reading, you’re all intense like you’re studying up for a case?” Dean asked when Sam remained silent.

“Just some of that game theory research I was telling you about. It’s really interesting how the human interaction part of playing makes the game so unpredictable.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “I can’t believe you’re researching rock paper scissors, this is supposed to be a fun thing.”

“You said we’re playing against each other right?”

“Yeah, that’s how I entered us, so we’d at least get to play the first round against each other,” Dean answered.

“So, that means one of us is going to lose, right away in the first round?”

“Yeah, thought it might make it easier on you, doing it in front of the crowd, if you were playing a known quantity.”

“That’s some real strategic thinking you’ve got going on there, Dean,” Sam said in a teasing voice. “You paid for two entry fees, right?”

“Yeah, and…”

“And one of us is out in round one?”

“Oh…” Dean trailed off as he realized the error in his strategy, he sighed in preparation for Sam bro-splaining it to him.

“Well, that means whoever wins, out of the two of us, they need to be as prepared as possible so we have a good chance to win that ten-k.”

“You’re assuming you’re winning?” Dean asked before thinking about what his question really meant.

“Don’t I always?”

Dean didn’t answer the big unasked question that underlaid that simple one, because that was not a conversation they were having, not now, not ever. He thought back over all the times they’d played the simple game to decide something life-threatening or just plain embarrassing. Every time, he’d let Sam win, always throwing scissors. _Always._ Eventually when Sam had gotten old enough, he’d obviously noticed the pattern, but he’d never said anything to Dean about it. Dean had figured his teenaged brother just chalked it up to it being another way that his big brother was looking out for him. Which was how it had started of course.

Their life had been so hard, especially early on, and he’d been desperate to make it easier on Sam. He just had wanted him to be happy, was that so wrong to let him have a win now and then? It was after they’d gotten back on the road, and played the game again for the first time, for something dire, that Dean had realized he’d unconsciously let Sam win again, just like he always had. And after that, he just kept doing it, and Sam kept expecting the same result every time.

It was easier that way, and Sam had never questioned it or made Dean confront his choice to let him win, especially when it was important stuff. It was hard when they never talked about stuff like this to just bring it up out of the blue. And besides, he didn’t want to change it. He was man enough to admit to himself that he loved being able to take care of Sam like that, so easily, without asking permission to, even when it shouldn’t be easy a lot of times.

****

 


	2. Chapter 2

**~~**

The miles slipped by and Sam kept on quietly reading his game theory papers, the tablet screen glowing in the dark car, Dean wondered for the millionth time how he had ended up with such a nerd for a brother, well at least he was a cute nerd. That part definitely went unsaid, except for in the private conversations he had with himself while he drove. 

 

Dean knew he was staring, but Sam looked so good like this, relaxed, but still engaged, that twinkle in his eyes as he took in new information, his hair curling softly around his ears and resting on the nape of his neck.

 

“Cut it out, eyes on the road,” Sam said out of the side of his mouth, eyes not moving from his tablet screen.

 

Dean cleared his throat and shifted his focus back to the road. Sam’s peripheral vision was kind of scary. He wondered if it would be a help to him in the rock-paper-scissors tournament.

 

“Hey, any of those papers have anything to say about freakish peripheral vision being helpful in winning rock-paper-scissors?”

 

Sam made a sound somewhere between a giggle and a hmph, so yeah probably was the answer he wouldn’t be hearing.

 

“Well, someone ought to study that, might be some money in it,” Dean observed.

 

“You actually think that’s some kind of compliment don’t you,” Sam said in his snarkiest tone.

 

Dean grinned wide and sudden, loving that Sam took it that way.

 

“Can we stop in Denver?” Sam asked. “Or do we need to get to Vegas tonight?”

 

“Don’t need to be in Vegas until Saturday, we have a few days booked in the hotel before the tournament starts. But yeah, I was kind of planning on getting through most of the city and staying on the westside of Denver,” Dean said. “It’ll probably be at least an hour depending on how bad rush hour is this time.”

 

“Oh god, I remember that—what was it, two hours stuck on the freeway in the winter when that freak storm blew through?” Sam asked, laughing at the memory.

 

“That was some nasty driving, and it was a bad time for the heater not to be working.” Dean remembered how they’d driven with the blanket around their shoulders, Sam right next to him warm and snug and there. It’d been maddening and wonderful and he’d wished it would never end. 

 

Sam shivered at the memory. “Well, no worry about being cold this time, one good thing about doing this trip in July.”

 

“You going to be researching the whole way there?” Dean asked.

 

“Why, you feeling underprepared?” Sam countered with that annoying tease still in his voice.

 

“You have no idea how prepared I am. I’ve been studying up for this for months. Go ahead, ask me anything about rock-paper-scissors around the world, I know it all.”

 

“How’s that going to help you in the tournament?” Sam asked, now in full-on little-brother snark mode.

 

“Well, it’s an international tournament, Sam. That means there’ll be people there who have played different versions, might have the different techniques I’ve learned about.”

 

“Well, Dean, that assumes that you beat me in our first round, now doesn’t it?”

 

“May the best man win, is all I’m going to say about that,” Dean said.

 

“Tell me some of this international info, that isn’t on the Wikipedia page since I already read that,” Sam said.

 

“Well, there’s this online version of the game, where you play against an AI bot thing. And it’s good, it learns how you play the game, and it has all the game theory stuff programmed into it. There was an organized effort by some of the RPS players to beat the thing, show it who’s boss, right? And the only guy that could do it was this one Asian dude, he was top of the leaderboard. Turns out he was using a bot to make his choices for him. So it ended up being computer versus computer. That was the only way to fool the thing and have a chance to win.”

 

“You really did study this stuff, it’s kind of amazing what you can learn when you set your mind to it,” Sam said, all dripping with patronizing smarm.

 

“Oh my brother, I learned plenty, but the hottest thing ever was the strip version,” Dean said.

 

Sam reacted, but not in the way Dean had expected. Instead of shifting around, uneasy with any sexual innuendo in his usual prissy way, this time Sam’s leg found its way back onto his side of the seat, knee almost pressing into his thigh again. Dean widened his own stance a bit and smiled when at the first brush of contact, Sam’s knee pressed firmly and unmistakably into him. He wasn’t sure what it meant, and Sam was back to reading again, so he let himself enjoy the contact as he drove.

 

Dean found them a motel once they’d gotten through most of Denver, it had an attached diner which would make things easier. They ate some burgers and kept talking about rock paper scissors and game theory, and Dean could hardly stand how good it felt to tangle their feet together under the table in the small booth, Sam smiling and engaged and relaxed. He smiled back at Sam, full to bursting with the small pleasure of just being  with his brother.

 

“What’s got you grinning like a fool?” Sam asked, smiling around his milkshake straw.

 

Dean watched Sam fish around in his tall glass for the remainder of his milkshake, not answering, just taking it in, Sam whole and right here with him.

 

“You’re acting so strange, you must be going out tonight then?” Sam asked.

 

Dean came back to himself enough to answer, “No, I’m staying in.”

 

“But you’re acting so antsy, usually that means you’re heading out to a bar trying to score.”

 

“Nah, I gotta conserve my mojo for the tournament.”

 

“You really think having a one-night stand, or drinking or whatever is going to affect your performance in the tournament?”

 

“I do, yeah. Besides, I thought I was going to show you the strip version of RPS when we get back to our room.”

 

Sam inhaled as he drank the last of his milkshake, sending him into a coughing fit. He was red-faced and couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes on his way out of the diner. It was a strange night after that, both of them fidgety, pretending to watch whatever dumb action movie they’d landed on, but really they were watching each other. Dean chalked it up to Sam missing being at home and acting as Chief to all those strangers.

 

****

 

After another long day in the car, they finally arrived in Vegas, valet parked the car and found the registration table to one side of the hotel lobby. Behind the white table-clothed table was a man wearing a t-shirt with the tournament logo and a tired smile. He shuffled a large pile of envelopes as they approached.

 

“Hey there, we’re here to check in for the tournament,” Dean said.

 

“Hi, I’m Henry Lethorn, we’ve probably been corresponding online. And you are?” Henry said, extending a hand to shake. Dean was surprised that Henry was wearing what looked to be a weight-lifting glove.

 

“Les Braunstein, glad to meet ya,” Dean said, pumping Henry’s hand enthusiastically. He could practically hear Sam rolling his eyes as he heard the alias, yeah Blue Oyster Cult again. So sue him, they’d had the ID’s out recently, so it was easy to get his hands on both of them when he’d made the online reservation.

 

Henry let go of his hand and shuffled through the pile of envelopes, pulling one out and opening it up.

 

“Ah, here we go, Les Braunstein and his plus one, and also entered in the competition, well now that’s interesting…your husband, Andrew Winters. Here are your name badges, please wear them around your necks at all times when at the tournament, your free drink coupons, the updated schedule and your assigned tournament slot times. Any questions?”

 

“Is it really that unusual, that a married couple is entered in the tournament?” Dean asked.

 

Henry looked them both up and down very slowly, like he was cataloguing all their sins both real and imagined. “It is now, after what happened last year, yes. I think it was two divorces and one break-up total, so in our experience couples do not do well competing against each other. But I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”

 

“Guess we’ll just have to keep being rock solid then, huh, babe?” Dean joked, pulling Sam in close to him with an arm around his brother’s waist. Sam came willingly, almost surprising Dean with how much he pressed up against him, how much weight of his weight he let Dean take. Dean decided to push it a little further since Henry was still giving them a mild stink eye. He leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to Sam’s cheek. 

 

Sam turned and brushed his lips against Dean’s, his arm pulling Dean in close. Sam murmured against his lips, “What are you doing?”

 

“Just go with it, Andrew,” Dean said, relieved when Sam finally let him go.

 

“Oh I’m going with it, Les,” Sam said, kissing him with intention this time, slow and steady, his lips moved, sucking Dean’s into his with a small nipping bite at the end. Dean couldn’t help shivering as he pulled away from Sam reluctantly. Reluctantly, wait…what?

 

“I wish you good luck, both of you. Hope you won’t end up split-up like the last couples that tried this,” Henry said, waving them away from the table so that the next people could take their place.

 

After they’d gotten out of sight of the registration table, Sam pulled Dean aside and caged him against one of the alcoves behind a potted palm. Dean looked up at his brother, blotting out all the light from the hotel lobby, shoulders impossibly wide, face incredibly angry and confused.

 

“What are you playing at, _Les_?” Sam practically spat down into Dean’s face.

 

“It’s like any other case, _Andrew_ , you didn’t need to do all that. Why are you being like this?” Dean asked, completely confused at Sam’s overreaction to the married ruse they’d used so many times before.

 

“Like what, like telling them that we’re married? You’re the one that chose to go with that story. And who, in twelve hours of being on the road, failed to mention that little detail so I could be prepared.”

 

“It got us a better deal on the tournament registration fee. Don’t know why they kept the couples discount if it was breaking people up and causing divorces, but when I saw it, I thought it could save us some bucks. That way I could spend more on the hotel room. Let’s go check in, huh?”

 

“Just give me more warning next time, okay?” Sam asked, face returning to normal, the storm of frustration passing, thankfully.

 

The ride up to their room was quiet but it too a long time as their room was on one of the top floors of the hotel. The door was enormous and heavy, as Dean shut it behind them, he couldn’t miss Sam’s gasp.

 

“You weren’t kidding about spending more on the hotel room,” Sam said with an open-mouthed grin.

 

“Nothing but the best for my man,” Dean said, staying in character, even though they were alone, because why the hell not at this point. He spread his arms wide and spun around a few times in the enormous room. He opened the patio doors wide and let in the heat and noise of the city. The water of the rooftop lap-pool sparkled in the sunset.

 

“Thanks, Les, you’re the best,” Sam said with a laugh as he stood in the doorway with him admiring the pool.

 

“That’s what good husbands do, right, Andrew?” Dean said with a tease in his voice he hoped sounded jokey enough to cover up how much he meant it. In a lot of ways that’s how he thought of them now, an old married couple that did for each other like they were supposed to. He wondered if Sam thought of them like that too.

 

“I’m going to order us some dinner and get in the pool,” Sam said after a few moments, answering Dean’s unasked question.

 

He spaced out as he heard Sam’s low tones on the phone with room service, still standing against the patio door, eyes mesmerized by the sparkling water. Dean imagined that this was what they always had, that he was able to give this to Sam all the time, and in a legit way, too. His brother deserved it, he wished he was able to give all the luxury in the world to him. 

 

Sam bumped his hip into Dean’s as he passed him in the doorway. Dean came back to the real-world and wondered if he’d gone to heaven and hadn’t remembered dying (this time at least). Sam’s wide shoulders and tiny waist were bare, all that beautiful skin on display, his shapely ass and thighs covered in tight blue swim trunks. Sam dove into the pool, slicing through the water, and coming up with a splash and a laugh as Dean jumped out of the way. He flipped onto his back and looked up at Dean, “C’mon in, the water’s fine.”

 

Dean couldn’t speak, he felt frozen by an all-too familiar flood of desire, he had to push it away, had to control himself. He couldn’t let himself give in to the insane impulse to strip all his clothes off and jump in the water with Sam, push him up against the tiles and press their wet bodies together and oh god—no he couldn’t. Dean turned away and stalked into the bathroom, and tried and failed not to slam the door. He stood in front of the full-length mirror, saw how obvious his desire and lust was, how his jeans stood out in a shameful tent, how the fabric was dark where he’d been leaking just watching his brother swim. He growled and took himself out, shoving his jeans and boxers down past his hips. He took himself in hand, rough at first, then licking his palm, but it dried off too fast. He pumped some of the complimentary hotel lotion into his palm and slicked himself up.

 

Watching himself in the mirror, he imagined that Sam could see all this, that he wanted to, that he told Dean to go faster, to touch himself, all over his chest, pinching at his nipples, to tug gently at the hair around his cock as he kept slowly stroking it. He could practically hear Sam’s growl as he told him to fondle his balls, to get some more lotion and finger himself, challenging him to get as many inside himself as possible. To make himself ready for Sam’s giant—

 

A knock at the door, Sam’s voice, “You okay in there, Dean? Food’s here, come eat with me?”

 

At the sound of his brother’s voice saying his name and the word come, Dean did, he couldn’t help it, he unloaded all over the mirror, watching his shame drip down the shiny surface, he pulled himself back together, tucking himself back in, being harsh and rough with himself like he deserved. He yanked it all back in and shoved it down where it belonged, down in the dark, where no one could ever know, could ever find it to use against him, where Sam could never see how he really thought—

 

“Dean?” Sam asked again, the door opening just a crack.

 

“Yeah, coming, hold your horses,” Dean said. “Just washing up.”

 

Sam shut the door, and Dean leaned against the marble sink, trying not to see himself in the mirror as he washed his hands. He cleaned the mirror off as well as he could with Kleenex, but it was pretty smeary, Sam would notice. But he’d blame it on bad cleaners, which was totally rude, but he had to keep this shit locked up.

 

When he made it out of the bathroom, Sam had already eaten his salad and was back in the pool. Dean ate his lukewarm burger at the poolside table and tried his best not to stare at Sam too much. The sun had gone down and the lights of the city below shone up through the glass-bottomed pool, highlighting just how stunningly beautiful his brother’s body really was.

 

“You’re not ever going to get out of there, are you?” Dean asked, finishing off the Del Sol beer his brother had thoughtfully ordered for him. The whole burger had been perfect, extra onions, crispy bacon, just enough blue cheese. Sam really knew his favorites, it brought to mind the whole old-married couple thing again, and Dean felt himself blushing. Good thing it was fairly dark out here.

 

Sam swam to the edge of the pool, his arms crossed, biceps popped, huge and looked up at him. “This really is an amazing pool, are you gonna come in or what?”

 

“Maybe later, I’m going to go downstairs, gamble a little, that kind of thing,” Dean said, standing up and looking off the edge of the balcony to the Vegas strip all lit up below them. He could feel his brother’s eyes on him and knew that this was him chickening out. Dean knew that if he got in that pool, he couldn’t pretend well enough to fool Sam, he couldn’t do it for even one minute. If he got in there with Sam, he’d lose it all, and it wouldn’t just be some tournament, it’d be everything.

 

“Well, I’m staying in,” Sam said with a small pout that could have been pretend, Dean couldn’t really tell. Dean watched as Sam did a few more laps and then rested, floating on the pool’s surface, then doing more laps. It was too hard to sit and watch Sam swim, his beautiful body cutting through the water, all lit up with the lights of Vegas below. He changed into his going-out jeans, the ones that he knew fit the best and his favorite red over shirt. He said goodbye from the door, but Sam probably didn’t hear him. It was probably better that way.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean left their hotel room that night before the tournament and headed out to find something—anything that would be a distraction, anyone that could wipe out of his mind what he’d just done upstairs with Sam right there in the next room. That had been too close, he’d almost screwed it all up. He needed to get out, and his first stop was the first bar he came to downstairs. 

Sitting at the bar on his second whisky, Dean felt the warmth of a person fill the space next to him, closer than it should be. On the stool, snugged up close was a beautiful young woman, with flowing red hair and fox-shaped hazel eyes that reminded him of you-know-who ( _samsamsam_ of course) and after one tossed-off comment about not wanting to drink alone, before he knew it, Dean was waking up sometime later. He went through his usual morning-after checklist, he was naked, yep, assumed that he was in her bed, and he was feeling horrible, not just hung-over, but with an extra jaw-grinding headache like the contents of his brain had been taken out, scrambled and then replaced. 

He got up and checked the room and discovered that though he was thankfully, alone he seemed to be a prisoner. He didn’t really know where he was, the only door was solid metal and it was locked, there wasn’t a window in the cement brick walls. He pawed through the pile of his clothes and searched all his pockets, quickly discovering that his phone was gone. At least there was a bathroom. His mind finally cleared a bit after he risked taking a shower, and he reeled with the memories of last night. He struggled to pull his clothes back on as he tried to straighten out his brain.

The woman who’d picked him up in the bar, turned out to be a man wearing a red wig. Wait, no—not really just a man. The dude was a kitsune, one who liked to trick men and mislead them into seduction. He’d told him his favorite thing was springing the knowledge on his marks at the last minute that they were having sex with a supernatural creature. That’s what he had said anyway, but he hadn’t done any of that to Dean. No, there hadn’t been any sex, he’d just drugged him up into compliance and walked him down to this windowless room where Dean had been locked up and left alone naked in bed.

The real kicker from last night that he recalled last, was learning that the young man, no not a man a kitsune, was actually Jacob Pond, Amy Pond’s son. The child kitsune that had watched as he’d killed his mother, right there in front of the kid’s eyes, and then like the soft-hearted idiot he was, he’d let him go, told him to come find him when he was ready to try and take his revenge. 

He kicked himself again for being too much of a softy when it came to kids, even the supernatural ones. It’d been a problem more than once before and it sure was a hell of a thing now. He just hadn’t been able to off the kid back then, even though, as a hunter doing his job, he really should have. 

Dean realized that he’d been dosed with something pretty strange last night, the details kept coming through to his brain in filtered, blurry pieces, just bits of the walk to this room from the bar. It hadn’t seemed too far, but it wasn’t all there, and not in the right order. He remembered noisy metal stairs at one point. The last thing that came to him was Jacob leaving the room with a wink, telling him not to worry, that he’d let Sam know where he was and not to worry, he’d be back to eat Dean’s brains later. 

Dean remembered then, the drug that Jacob had used on him, had been like a truth serum kind of thing. Dean had told him…everything. All the stuff he never said or even admitted to himself, that all the things he wanted to do with and for Sam were all because he loved him more than he should, in all the wrong ways, and that he was tired, so damn tired of keeping it hidden from his brother, all of that had poured out of him in one sickening, self-hating stream of filth. And now the kid knew, and he was going to do something, use it somehow to hurt Sam, just tell him or something even worse.

Dean remembered with a sinking feeling of dread, he remembered talking, saying it all, and how the kid’s face had writhed with disgust and then derision. He remembered what Jacob had promised. 

“This is even better! He truly means everything to you, just like my mom did to me. Change of plans, I’m going to kill him in front of you, just like you did to my mom. I’m going to stab him right in the heart while you watch the light go out in his eyes. Then you’ll know how it feels before I kill you too.”

***

Sam woke up the next day, saw Dean’s bed was un-slept in and shrugged. It wasn’t all that unusual, Dean did this sort of thing. He puttered around, ate some room service breakfast and tried calling and texting his brother. It was almost ten and he hadn’t heard a thing back. The weird thing was Dean’s car keys were still in his bag, but maybe he’d just hoped to get lucky within walking distance. Sam searched the entire hotel as well as the adjoining ones on the Vegas Strip, looking for any clues about Dean’s whereabouts the entire day, finally coming back to their room and finding a folded piece of paper on the bar under Dean’s cellphone.

Sam read the note, hoping it was from Dean and not housekeeping. It wasn’t. 

_He chose_ _me._

_He chose to stay with_ _me_ _over you._

_Do not worry though, Samuel._

_I will make sure Dean is very happy._

_I can make him happier than you ever could._

_Dean said to tell you not to look for him, he left you the keys in his bag._

_This makes us even now in my mind._

_My mother, Amy, told me that you were a very fair man._

_She said that you would accept the honor of such a choice as well as the honoring of a debt being paid._

The piece of paper the note was written on smelled very strange, Sam recognized it as almost a dog smell, but not quite. It reminded him of the girl who was his first kiss, Amy—Amy Pond. The woman who Dean had killed years ago because she was a kitsune that had been killing people. If the person who wrote this note had a mother named Amy, then that meant it was likely her kid, Jacob. They hadn’t seen him in what was it now…seven years, and Dean had said—that he’d let Jacob go, told him to come find him when he felt he was ready.

Sam remembered that he had told Dean back then that he really needed to stop imitating movies in real life, that yeah, “Kill Bill” had been great and all. But he needed to come up with his own lines.

That meant Dean’s disappearance was a case all of a sudden, instead of just the usual all-night and next-day bender. Sam kicked himself mentally, he really should have known, because Dean had seemed to really be into this whole rock-paper-scissors tournament thing. It had seemed to really mean something to him, which was refreshing after all they’d been dealing with lately. 

Sam reread the note and realized that he was dealing with a kitsune bent on revenge, one that likely had his brother stashed somewhere, hopefully nearby. Sam quickly searched the lore database he had created on his tablet and reacquainted himself with the details of hunting a kitsune. He either had to stab it in the heart to kill it, or starve it from eating pituitary glands. Sam remembered the illness Jacob had suffered when he was young, the one that had led Amy to provide him with fresh human kills. Maybe it meant Jacob wasn’t as strong as kitsune usually were, or maybe it had caused him to do this. It was probably just a usual case of revenge, but Sam didn’t care, because it was Dean. 

After researching for a bit, Sam remembered a story of a Japanese seance procedure to compel an answer to an important question from a kitsune that he’d read about recently in one of the Letters’ research files, he hoped it would work, maybe it would at least give him a clue to go on. He had nothing else to bring Dean back to him. 

Sam dialed the room service number and ordered their Japanese dinner which was some Udon soup, sake and sushi, asking for extra chopsticks. Once the food arrived, he ate quickly and cleaned up after himself. He got the biggest, sharpest knife out of his bag that he had with him and tucked it into his boot in the hidden holster. In his laptop bag, a deck of alphabet cards was stored next to his tarot deck, he pulled it out and shuffled the cards into an alphabetical circle on the floor. The sun was setting in the big bank of windows, the room glowing orange and pink, he wished that his brother was there to see it. 

It was almost time for the first get-together party of the tournament. Dean was going to be pissed to miss the event, he’d called it his one chance to examine the competition in person. Sam didn’t care about the tournament at all, he knew he didn’t have long to get Dean back. He’d sign Dean up for the tournament every damn year for the rest of their lives if he could just have him back.

Sam placed three of the chopsticks from his dinner into a little teepee shape, and balanced the small sake cup at the top of the contraption. He placed a bit of salmon in the cup and then poured sake over it. Sam began chanting Jacob’s name the prescribed number of times, nine times for the nine tails of the kitsune. He asked the question, ‘Where is my brother?’ nine times. 

The chopstick/cup contraption slowly moved from letter card to letter card around the circle. Sam wrote the sequence of letters down, quickly realizing that Dean had to be close. Maybe even right here, but below, somewhere in the bowels of the giant hotel. 

_Here, below you, straight down into the earth, no window, no exit, safe_ —was the answer. 

Yeah, maybe it was a trap, Jacob was likely bent on revenge after all, but Sam had no choice but to investigate. And now Jacob knew he was coming since he’d had to answer Sam’s question.

****

The door handle rattled as someone fiddled with the lock on the other side, Dean tried to prepare himself, to attack, to dash through and past the kid and hopefully escape, but he just wasn’t fast enough. Jacob was inside, with the door shut behind him before Dean even got close. He held Dean’s eyes with his magnetic ones, Dean felt himself fall into being hypnotized or worse, and then he knew no more. 

Dean came back to himself when he heard Jacob’s laughter filling the small room.

“You tell me your whole fucking life story and it all comes down to ‘Sammy’s my everything’, god of all the sappy shit I’ve heard in my life, that takes the cake! And even better, I bet he doesn’t even know does he? And that’s why you’re playing at being married for the tournament. Jesus is that pathetic!”

Jacob roared with more laughter as Dean didn’t answer, didn’t protest, because what was the point. If Jacob already knew, if he’d already made Dean say it, then there wasn’t anything he could do about it. It was true, all of it, and it sucked balls that Sam would never know. He felt his grip on reality start to bend and shape itself to Jacob’s will, those glowing kitsune eyes unavoidable. He was gone again.

***

A faint glow of yellowish fox-flare illuminated the dark metal stairwell. Sam tried to descend as quietly as he could, but any sound just reverberated in the big space. He could see by the dim wall light, a whole lot of construction debris, stacks of metal rods, and cement blocks, there were three doors. One door was open, and the small room was empty, the next came open easily when he turned the handle, but was also empty of anything but cleaning supplies. That meant it had to be the third one. This door was locked, and there was the glowing remnants of more yellowish fox-flare around the threshold. He quickly got his lock pick out and set to work on the lock. It clicked open and the door smashed outwards as Sam was tackled by a quick moving body. It was Dean.

“Dean! It’s me!”

Dean didn’t stop though, he was pummeling Sam, the hits coming so quickly that Sam couldn’t think, couldn’t protect himself. Dean’s eyes didn’t look right, the pupils enlarged, and instead of their usual green they were slightly yellow, his face felt sweaty and hot. Finally Sam was able to flip both of them and trap Dean under his control.

“Damn it, Dean! Snap out of it, please,” Sam yelled in Dean’s face as Dean strained to get out of Sam’s hold.

Dean’s eyes slowly cleared, the pupils going back to normal size, the yellow tinge disappearing as the green began coming back. “Sammy?”

Sam relaxed, and began to get off of Dean, loosening his holds. That’s when he was tackled again, this time from behind by someone or something with claws. Sam screamed as the kitsune’s claws raked up the side of his torso, cutting through all his layers to rip into his skin. He kicked out at the kitsune as it raced past, luckily tripping it. He heard it crash into a pile of construction materials in the dark edge of the hallway. 

“Dean, you okay?” Sam asked.

“Getting there, you?” Dean answered from the other side of the bed.

The kitsune’s claws clicked on the floor as it raced towards them from the dark, its eyes glowing yellow. Sam held his knife out and jabbed it towards Jacob’s heart, but it flicked the knife out of his hand easily, spinning and slashing with his claws all across Sam’s back. Sam fell to the ground, hitting his head on one of the sharp-edged cement blocks.

****

Hearing Sam’s cry of pain shocked Dean the rest of his way out of his hypnotized stupor. He tried to roll over, stand up and fight, get to Sam, anything, but he couldn’t, Jacob’s face hovered over his again, those damn glowing eyes boring into his mind, scrambling up any intentions he had. Then, like it was some messed-up dream, he watched himself pick Sam up, bring him back into the room, lay him out on the bed, and begin to tie him down securely. 

He struggled against Jacob’s hold over his will, with every movement of his fingers on the ropes around Sam’s wrists and ankles he could feel himself regaining control. He watched his hands moving over Sam’s limp body, and wondered if this was the last time he’d ever touch his brother. It couldn’t be, not like this he screamed to himself, the echo of it finally shaking his will free from the kitsune’s control. He could see Jacob out of the corner of his eye walk into the bathroom.

The last effects of Jacob’s hypnotic suggestions wore off as he loosely tied the final knot around Sam’s wrists. Dean whispered as he leaned over Sam. “Sammy, don’t know if you can hear me, but I’ve got a plan. I barely tied this one,” Dean said, gripping Sam’s wrist just below the rope. “Just keep acting knocked-out until you hear me start playing the game with him, then you get out of these ropes and help me fight him.”

Sam nodded without opening his eyes and with that small sign, everything felt back to normal to Dean, they had a plan, they were both going to get out of this. Dean sat on the edge of the bed, his hip pressing into Sam’s and pretended to docilely wait for Jacob’s next instruction. It was hard to just sit there without doing anything, but he knew he needed Sam’s help to escape. Jacob came in from the bathroom, wiping his hands dry on his jeans.

“So we ready to deal yet or what?” Jacob asked.

“Thought you just wanted revenge,” Dean said, trying not to look too terribly alert.

Jacob laughed until he was bent over wheezing like an old man. “By all the nine-tales! No, of course not, that’s not all this is about, especially now that I know your whole story, Dean. It took me a while to realize that I needed to make this more fun for myself. I don’t get enough fun, you know? It’s all just need brains—ahh—brains all the freakin’ time. Gets old real fast, believe me. No, we definitely need to make more of a game out of all this bullshit.”

“So, what then? Monopoly, chess, parcheesi?” Dean joked.

“How about what you’re in town for?” Jacob suggested.

“You mean rock-paper-scissors?” Dean asked, surprised at first that Jacob knew why they were in Vegas in the first place. But of course he did, after last night’s gab session Jacob knew _everything that was in Dean’s brain_ now.

“Well, I would call it jan-ken-pon, but it is the same,” Jacob said.

“Sure, I’ll play it as long as you don’t use your googl-y eyes shit on me. What do I get if I win?”

“Sure, no googl-y eyes, promise. You’ll win Sam’s life and your freedom. I will let both of you go.”

“Just so we’re clear, what happens if I lose?” Dean asked.

The kitsune obviously thought that he was unbeatable, of course, Dean could tell by the sly grin he tried to hide. “There’s no if about it, you will lose. And when you do, I will slay you as I described last night and your brother will stay here with me to guard the Kimon.”

Dean quickly translated the Japanese word, going through all the kitsune lore he could remember to grasp what Jacob meant. “The Kimon, the demon gate, because of course Vegas has one.”

“How do you know this?” Jacob asked.

“It’s…uh, in the lore, about you,” Dean said. “The fox or kitsune is associated with the concept of Kimon, literally ‘demon gate’. Kimon usually means ominous direction, or taboo direction, but translates to demon gate to the Northeast where demons gather and enter. The fox or kitsune is able to ward off evil kimon.” Dean hoped Sam was awake and listening by this point, ready to start untying himself, and maybe also marveling at how well he remembered his kitsune/kimon lore.

“Not bad, Winchester. And here my mom had said that Sam was the smart one of you two.”

“Aw shucks, thanks,” Dean snarked. “Now we playin’ or what?”

“He is your everything, I think you said last night,” Jacob said with a sneer, jabbing a pointer finger at Sam’s still form on the bed. “Your whole heart is on the line here, Dean. But I wonder—will you tell him the whole truth if and this is a big if, you win?”

“Buddy, that’s between me and Sam, none of your nosy business. Fists up, let’s go,” Dean said, holding out his closed fist. “Best two out of three.”

In the first round, Dean watched Jacob closely, categorizing any and all twitches or eye movements, looking for a tell. He went with his own usual, the one he knew he wouldn’t have a visible tell for and threw scissors. Jacob threw paper.

“Again,” Jacob said, mouth gone grim and tight with concentration, now that Dean had won the first round.

Dean watched the kitsune’s eyes begin to glow a bit yellow around the edges. “No fair using that on me, dude, you promised.”

Jacob grimaced and nodded, the yellow glow quickly dimming away to nothing. “Yeah, all right, fair’s fair.”

Dean saw Jacob’s fingers press themselves tightly into a fist on the last movement, in that bare split-second, he hoped that it meant he was going to throw rock and threw paper himself.  Dean whooped with real surprise that he’d won so easily. Jacob frowned and extended his claws towards Dean’s neck in a vicious swipe. Dean barely dodged and rolled out of the way of a further attack.

A flurry of movement and noise erupted as Sam launched himself into Jacob, the blood from the knife spraying across the room, soaking the bed where Sam had been tied. Jacob’s body fell forward onto it, bouncing even though it was now lifeless. Sam stood over him, bloody knife in one hand, panting with the adrenaline of the fight, a fierce joy on his face at having won.

“Guess I’m glad you brought a knife to a rock paper scissors fight,” Dean grinned.

“What do we do with him?” Sam asked.

“Probably time for us to take a drive out to the desert,” Dean answered.  


Moving in practiced unison they bundled the body up in the blankets from the bed and dragged it out to the alley behind the hotel. Sam handed Dean the Impala keys.

“You brought the keys?”

“I did a ritual, that compels kitsune to answer, and I got a vague answer. I thought I might need to drive around and look for you. Didn’t know for sure that you were right underneath me.”

Dean was struck with the thought of how glad he was that Sam was so thoroughly, annoyingly competent. “Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said, pulling Sam into a quick one-armed side hug. “I’ll be right back.”

He walked through the alley and found his way into the parking garage and quickly piloted Baby out of the tiny parking space and around the block, marveling at the all the lights of the Vegas strip. He turned back down the alley and was even happier to see the familiar shape of his brother, standing tall and whole against the cement wall. Together they lifted Jacob’s body into the trunk of the Impala and took off down the strip. The streets were a lot emptier at this hour of night, but the lights still were all on, blinking and colorful as they zoomed past all the city limits out to the desert. Dean turned off on a dirt road where there were no streetlights and they quickly burned and buried Jacob’s body in a shallow grave. 

They’d done the grave-digging, body-burning thing so many times, they didn’t even need to talk about it.

~~**~~  



	4. Chapter 4

Dean drove them through the dark desert night back towards the glow of Vegas on the horizon and all he could think about was those months after he’d killed Amy Pond and lied to Sam. How Sam had left him on that dock, and Dean had never forgiven himself for that lie, necessary as he’d thought it was back then. He wouldn’t do that now, hopefully Sam knew that.

Into the soft darkness between them it felt like there was an opening to address it. Especially after they’d just saved each other in their usual spectacular fashion. “I’m sorry you had to do that tonight, I should have…taken care of it, uh, back then.”

“Dude, it’s what had to happen, I wasn’t letting him get another chance to kill you.”

“It’s all my fault, Sammy. If I’d just let her go like I should have, instead of killing her right in front of her kid, then he’d never have…and all that lying to you afterwards.”

“You’re still stuck on that? I forgave you, don’t you remember? You were right to take care of killing Amy back then, I wouldn’t have been able to do it myself. I forgave you for lying to me too, I wasn’t happy about it, of course, but I forgave you, remember?”

“But now you had to kill her kid, and I’m just sorry I brought all of this down on us,” Dean said.

“I’ll get over it, it had to be done. He was making you do stuff, tell him things you didn’t want to, who knows what else he was going to do to you? It kind of cancels out the guilt I probably should be feeling right now.”

They drove the rest of the way in a silence that felt more comfortable to Dean, the guilt flavor was gone now, replaced with the hopefulness that Sam’s forgiveness always brought him.

On the way up to their room, Sam met his eyes in the mirrored wall of the elevator. “So, what’s the whole truth Jacob was talking about?”

Dean could feel the answer writing itself all over his face, and watched Sam’s eyes widen in surprise as he read the words he left unsaid. He couldn’t—he absolutely could not do this in public, just in case Sam reacted badly when he heard the whole thing. So he shook his head, refusing to answer until they were back in their room. 

Sam shrugged and got this little closed-mouth smile his eyes crinkling a little at the corner, but he didn’t laugh, thank god.

  
Once the door was closed and locked behind them, and they both had beers from the mini-bar and were lounging in the pool, he’d worked out the words, what it was that he felt he had to say about the whole thing. After all, he knew that he was likely only going to get the one chance at this. So he knew he had to say it clearly, so Sam couldn’t misinterpret anything important, and then, once all his cards were laid out, it would be up to Sam to decide. That seemed to be the fairest way to do this, to take this risk to change every damn thing between them, maybe ruin them for good.

Sam finished his beer first and started swimming slowly doing laps back and forth. He hissed as the water hit the shallow slashes Jacob had left on his torso. Dean marveled at how beautiful his brother looked slicing through the water, his face relaxed and serene. He wished on everything holy and unholy in the world that Sam would take this conversation well. But he just didn’t know how it was going to go.

Sam finally stopped, sitting up on the step next to Dean, panting a little at his exertion.

“Maybe we need to put one of these lap pools in for you back home,” Dean said, tipping his beer back all the way to get the last drops. He noticed Sam watching him intently, how his brother followed the movements of his throat, and licked his own lips.

“Sammy, you know what you asked me in the elevator?” 

“About what Jacob said, the whole truth thing and whether you would tell me?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, that,” Dean said, taking a deep breath so that he could get the words out.

“I’d like to hear it, if you want to—I mean, if you can tell me,” Sam said.

“He used some kind of kitsune hypnosis thing on me, like a truth serum almost. And he got me to tell him about you and me, and how I feel about you. He found out how to get in my mind, he dug in real deep. He made me tell him my main truth, that you are my everything.”

Sam just stared at him for what seemed like the longest minute in the whole damn world. He swallowed, almost a gulp and looked suspicious or maybe nervous. “Your everything?”

“Yeah, I just spilled the whole story to him, our lives, what we’ve done for each other, the whole damn thing. It was goddamn horrifying hearing all of it from end to end. It’s a lot when you say it all at once.”

“I can imagine, Lucifer used to make me do that too. He thought it was hilarious, how pointless it had all been.”

“Pointless?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, since I’d ended up locked up with him. He really just didn’t get it though.”

“Get what?” Dean asked.

“How that was the point—of my whole life. I chose to fall into that hole with him to save you. Just like you sold your soul. It’s what we do for each other. No one else ever understands it though.”

Dean kicked a little in the water, feeling even more nervous. “Just you and me.”

Sam looked over at him, eyes flashing with hopefulness. “Yeah, just you and me.” Sam dove back in the water and stayed on the bottom for a long time. Dean could see that he was talking or maybe screaming. He ducked his head underwater and heard his name vaguely through the water. He swam down to where Sam was and pulled him up to the surface, Sam twined their legs together and held on tightly. 

“This is how we used to swim in all those motel pools, remember?” Dean asked as they floated together, briefly flashing back on the memory of feeling like some sort of sea mammal toting his baby around, keeping him safe until he’d learned to swim all on his own.

“It’s not like that though,” Sam said. “Not anymore, right?” Again with that hopeful look making him even more beautiful than usual. Sam’s arms and legs seemed to tighten around him, holding him closer than a barnacle on a ship hull. 

Just as he was about to get irritated with the clinginess that wasn’t going to go anywhere or amount to anything at all satisfying, Dean realized with a flash that Sam was holding on so tightly because he thought Dean was going to run away again. Like he had yesterday. 

He decided it was now or never to surprise his brother. He tightened his own arms and legs around Sam, and plunged them back down into the water, pressing Sam’s back against the glass bottom of the pool, all of the lights of Vegas reflecting around his head like a corona in a medieval painting, he was stunned at how beautiful he was all over again. He couldn’t help himself, he mouthed the three little words he’d always wanted to say to Sam. Then he actually said them, feeling them move past his lips and out into the water, his whole heart flowing out with them. 

Sam must have understood because he surged up, crashing his lips into Dean’s and pushing them up to the surface. He was tall enough to stand in the pool, so Dean held on, wrapping his legs around Sam’s slim hips. He was shocked (really he was) that Sam seemed to be as into this as he was, he was just as hard if not harder. Sam was growling and kissing him so intensely he could barely breathe. He let Sam attack his mouth, his neck, his ears and tried to give back just as much. 

They didn’t need to say anything, they knew. They’d always known, all the tells had always been there, they couldn’t ever really hide them from each other even though they’d tried their best. Sam had always known he’d throw scissors, he knew that Dean had always given him the choice to win or lose in every game. Now he was finally choosing what they both wanted, what they both needed. 

“Want you, Dean—want to see you,” Sam panted, holding Dean’s face between his giant hands.

“I’m right here, Sammy, you got me,” Dean said as he felt Sam pulling their swim trunks down. Sam’s hand wrapped around both of them, pumping slow and steady, with a little twist at the top. He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t stop himself as he thrusted into Sam’s hand, instantly loving the perfect friction, the flex of Sam’s abs against the very tip of him, the softness of Sam’s hard cock moving against his own. 

He wanted to feel it too, so he wrapped his own hand around them, covering the rest of their lengths so that he felt it when Sam released in-between them, his name one drawn out moan of pleasure coming out of Sam like the Bellagio fountain down the street. The water surged and churned as Sam hoisted him out of the pool setting him up on the edge, and Sam’s mouth, oh god, his mouth, shockingly hot compared to the pool, and the suction, oh god the perfect suction. 

“Shit, Sam, I can’t, I’m gonna…” and he did, he let himself give it all to Sam. 

But Sam stopped just before, just before he went over that edge, the fucker. His eyes were wild and dark, his whole face carved into a mask of lust and desire. “Give it to me Dean, please. I want it all.” 

Dean groaned and held onto Sam’s wet mess of hair, curled his hands around the curve of Sam’s precious head and thrust up into the warm cavern of his mouth, once, twice, and then it was all over and done. 

Sam swallowed it all because he’d asked for it, and then whooped with joy, pulling Dean back into the water with him, wriggling through the water like a goddamn otter or something. Dean came up spluttering and still clinging to Sam’s shoulders. “What are you Aquaman or something?”

Afterwards, just before they fell asleep in one of the beds, just as intertwined as they’d been in the pool, Dean felt the weight of the happiness he’d never had fill him in the spaces deep inside where he’d always pretended he was full enough. He didn’t have to pretend anymore.

“You still want to do the tournament tomorrow?” Sam asked.

“Hell yes, you’re not getting out of it that easily. We paid, we’re playing,” Dean said, slipping off into sleep, planning for their day, competing in the tournament, winning, going out to celebrate, or coming back here to…” It made for a pretty nice dream.

***

It went, pretty much just as one would imagine, if one knew anything about playing rock-paper-scissors. Since they’d missed the pre-party yesterday, Dean felt like he had a slight advantage, because he was a complete mystery man to all the other competitors that had spent time and mental energy evaluating each other. That and he was flying high from finally feeling free to be himself with Sam at his side—well to be Les with Andrew at his side for the moment. 

That reminded him to get back into character, as he pulled back on the mask of Les Braunstein, Dean felt like he could hide in it a bit, but it was his choice this time, his strategy, and he knew he was damn good at it. When he stood there in front of the crowd facing Sam, he leaned in to kiss him, slow and deliberate, filling up on the real feeling, all the while hearing the whoops and whistles of the people watching them. They didn’t know it, but he was really doing this, for real this time, not pretend. 

“Kiss me like you mean it, Sammy,” he whispered against Sam’s lips. 

Sam grabbed him and dipped him backwards almost to the floor in the most ridiculous swooning dip, like he was his tiny bride at the altar. And Dean kissed him back like that, because it was—like that. _God._ How was he supposed to get it together enough to win this with Sam doing that to him?

Sam set them back up straight and grinned at him across the line of play. The crowd settled down a bit after hooting their last comments of ‘Get a Room!’

“You two finally ready or what?” The judge asked.

“Yes, sir, that we are,” Sam said, winking at Dean.

“Yeah, let’s do this,” Dean said.

“Best two out of three, as you know we’re playing by continental rules, and go!” The judge yelled.

Dean threw paper to Sam’s rock, and Dean knew he was going to win, but kept his pokerface as serious-business as he possibly could. He wouldn’t look Sam directly in the eyes, which were no doubt on the epic end of puppy-dog pleading.

Sam frowned and grumbled a little to himself, and they both re-set.

Dean threw paper again, and Sam again threw rock. The crowd burst into applause before Dean could realize he’d won. He’d actually let himself beat Sam, which was all of a sudden a much bigger deal than he’d realized. It seemed so selfish, the ultimate un-brotherly act, and maybe that was okay now that things were changing between them.

Sam grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him up with a whoop and a giant smile.

Dean shook his fist in triumph towards the crowd and slid down his brother’s body, giving him a big wet kiss on the way down.

They sat next to each other in the competitor waiting area, it would be a few minutes until it came to Dean’s turn in the second round. Dean couldn’t believe how good it felt to sit there with Sam’s arm casually draped around his shoulders. It was surprising how it felt so right to be tucked-up close with Sam, even in public.

“I knew you’d let me win,” Dean said. “You made it too easy.”

“I did not let you win,” Sam said, puffing up like an indignant house-cat. “I just guessed wrong. You won it, fair and square, I promise.”

“If you say so,” Dean said with a shrug, still not really believing him.

Sam pulled him in even closer and whispered in his ear, Dean shivered, wondering if he’d ever get used to the feeling of Sam’s soft lips brushing his ear. “You’re going to win. You’ve got this in the bag.”

There were a few more rounds to go, Dean competed and beat three more tournament contestants, two of them big names that he recognized from his research. But Sam was right, he did have this in the bag. 

After a few hours, it was finally time for the finals, it was just down to Dean and a Korean teenager that reminded him vaguely of Kevin but the dude had even more intensity. He was really hard to read at first, but then Dean noticed a slight pinkie finger twitch in his throwing hand, barely a visible movement, but he saw it happen in the first two rounds which they tied. It came down to the final final round, he saw the boy’s twitch and switched his own decision at the last possible millisecond accordingly. He threw scissors for the win. And somehow that was just perfect, after a lifetime of throwing scissors, letting Sam win, it had finally worked to his advantage to win for once. Maybe since he’d done it so many times he’d managed to erase any of his own tells. 

The teenager shook his hand in grudging congratulations and the referee lifted Dean’s non-throwing hand into the air, proclaiming Les Braunstein the winner of this year’s Rock-Paper-Scissors International Tournament. Sam’s joyous whooping was all he could hear, the rest of the crowd kind of faded away. Sam lifted him up again, and for a second he thought he was going to actually hoist him up on his shoulder. The Sasquatch probably really could do it, but he didn’t, thank god for small favors, he just held Dean tight, smiling as wide and happy as Dean had seen him in so many years it wasn’t even a bit funny. 

Dean found his footing again once Sam let him down, still holding an arm around his waist like it was no big deal (because _it wasn’t_ ) while Dean accepted a giant paper check for the award money. The organizers of the tournament all shook his hand, and most importantly: one of them handed Dean the actual normal-sized check that he could cash for real, and wasn’t that going to be the start of a nice little nest egg for them.

~~**~~  



	5. Chapter 5

“Why’d it take us so long?” Sam asked.

“What?” Dean asked, surprised that Sam was speaking after so many miles of quiet. He’d thought Sam was asleep.

“Why did it take us so long…to get here?” Sam asked, his hand creeping across the seat between them and finally landing on Dean’s thigh.

Dean took one hand off the wheel and covered Sam’s with his own. Not that he really could completely since Sam’s hands were so big. He felt himself flush hot at that realization. But anyway, back to the question—that question. There were too many ways to answer that.

Sam tried to get his hand out from under Dean’s, obviously staging a retreat since Dean wasn’t answering. Dean clamped his hand down, holding Sam steady until he could get the words out.

“I think it came down to that I didn’t want to take the chance of losing you,” Dean said, feeling the words have to slice their way through the internal walls he’d kept strong for his whole life. It was probably the most honest thing he’d ever said.

“Me too,” Sam said, and it sounded like he was surprised down to his core. 

Dean shifted a little, uncomfortable with how much being honest with Sam about this emotional stuff made him feel. He couldn’t help it. He felt it too deeply, it had been too many years, hiding it all from himself, and Sam. And when they got home, back to that whole bunker full of people—then what? There was even more hesitation to tell Sam the whole truth, he didn’t want to impact his Chief trajectory. How was it going to impact all those people Sam had relationships with now? Dean felt himself go hard all over, and not in a good way, all the walls coming back up. He was not going to be a dirty little secret in his own freaking home. He just was not.

“And recently, I didn’t want to mess up your whole Chief thing you’ve got going on.”

“That doesn’t mean shit to me, compared to you and me. You know that right?”

“You’ve got a lot of stuff going on with those folks though, Sam. You can’t just drop all of that, they need you.”

“Dean, I was using them. It got me through you being gone, concentrating on getting them organized. That’s all it really was.”

“I’m back now,” Dean said.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Sam said.

“What are you going to tell them when we get home?” Dean asked, trying desperately not to care what Sam’s answer would be.

“Get out, call me when you need help, in a month or so,” Sam answered so matter-of-factly like he’d already had some time to think about the situation.

“A month? A lot can happen in a month to a bunch of inexperienced hunters,” Dean countered, trying out all the angles for how Sam would be likely thinking about the whole situation.

“Can you pull over, at that rest stop coming up,” Sam pointed out the windshield ahead.

Dean didn’t answer, just pulled his baby over and wondered if this meant the conversation was over. Everything was changed now and he didn’t know if there were new rules about this stuff. As soon as he had the parking brake on and the engine turned off, he had a face-full of little brother. Sam had his hands holding his head, so he couldn’t turn his own face away, he had to look, had to meet Sam’s eyes. 

“Listen to me, you—you’re the only person I want to see for a month. I will walk in there and tell them all the truth that we are together and watch them freak out and run away in disgust. I really don’t freaking care at this point. It’s been my whole life waiting for a shot at this and I just want to make sure it works—that _we work_. Dean, I just want a chance to make you happy. That’s all that matters to me.”

“So I don’t have to be your dirty little secret, huh?” Dean asked, not caring how stunned he sounded, even to his own ears.

“Not unless you want to be,” Sam said in a voice that had no business sounding so damn hot.

Dean shifted in his seat, tried not to think about how hot it would be to sneak around and hide. But it had been too many years, practically their whole lives, hiding what they felt and not having what they wanted. No, it was finally their turn. And if anyone couldn’t deal, then too bad for them. “I really don’t. And I want to tell Mom and Cas.”

Dean was glad he wasn’t driving, because he could actually see what Sam’s reaction was, the whole thing, the process of surprise, confusion, and something that was maybe joy or relief, he couldn’t really tell. He was just swallowing down the swoop of worry that was running through him when Sam kissed him. He immediately realized this was more than a kiss, it was all unsaid thanks, relief from worry, and a fervent acceptance of Dean’s statement,

all topped off with more love and lust than Dean had ever felt. It was overwhelming, he tried to respond in kind as well as he could, and from Sam’s reaction it seemed to work. 

Sam eventually let go, let Dean catch a breath, and shifted back into his spot on the passenger side. Dean felt cold and lonely and ridiculous all at once, it was mortifying. He grabbed onto the steering wheel to have something to do.

“Dean, can you just take me home? I want to finish this there—with you,” Sam said, his hands clenching into fists briefly on his thighs like he was fighting against himself.

Dean felt the ridiculous cold lonely feelings fly away the moment he heard Sam speak. In their place was left behind a rawness that Sam’s words instantly soothed. 

“Yeah…yeah, I’m gonna take you home, Sammy,” Dean said, promising with everything in him that was left that it was going to be a home, where they could learn to make one together. He reached out a hand to the seat between them and thrilled at the feeling of Sam’s warm hand engulfing his. He knew it was unsafe and stupid, but he didn’t care, he’d drive one handed all the way back home.

  
The End  



End file.
